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by Sangerin



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Endgame, F/M, Prodigal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:52:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangerin/pseuds/Sangerin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Endgame-canon for Admiral Janeway’s timeline.  Contains canonical character deaths.  Technique inspired by Lynda La Plante.  Originally posted February 2004</p>
    </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Endgame-canon for Admiral Janeway’s timeline. Contains canonical character deaths. Technique inspired by Lynda La Plante. Originally posted February 2004

  
_Home is that place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in._  
\-- Robert Frost

The drying leaves of the trees rustled quietly as he walked slowly up the avenue. The road itself was disused; it was years since a wheeled vehicle had been driven up to the house, and grass had grown up over the wheel ruts.

It was odd, this feeling. He’d been to this house only once before – a strained reception for the crew just after their return home, hosted by her mother. A bright day, with a little breeze. Summer, in the late afternoon. Kathryn had greeted him, but she had become wary of him over the years on Voyager since Annika’s death. There was ice in her eyes that afternoon, and they didn’t speak again.

After that, he left Earth. Kathryn wasn’t the only one who was avoiding him, and with reason. It was easier to disappear for a while — from the planet, from the quadrant if he could. Of everyone on board _Voyager_ , he’d been among those least eager to see Earth again. There was nothing left for him there: his friends and family were dead, and he had alienated his crewmates. The Klingon penal settlement on Rura Penthe would have been more welcoming to him than Earth.

He knew much of it had been his own fault. When Annika died, he had almost ceased to function. He refused to leave _Voyager_ , ignoring that part of the first officer’s role that was to lead away missions. For weeks he wouldn’t leave the quarters they had had shared, and the memorial service had to be held without him. Just as he was beginning to live again, beginning to talk to others, even considering telling Tom to give back the second chair on the bridge, the data pack. His sister — his only relative to survive the Cardassian incursion — had died. His life ground to a halt once again, and Tom kept the role of first officer. Kathryn stopped offering her support and friendship, having been rebuffed beyond even her endurance.

Now, so many years later, so much having happened, he was walking up the avenue because he couldn’t think of anything else to do or anywhere else to go. He dreaded the moment of knocking on her door. Of seeing the expression in her eyes when she saw him. Of hearing her voice again. But this was where he had come, because this was the only place left.

All his mental rehearsal of that moment of reunion was wasted. She was sitting on the porch swing when he arrived, and she looked up at him as he emerged from the tree lined avenue.

She stood up. ‘Chakotay?’

He walked a little closer and she came down the steps to meet him, and held out her arms. ‘It’s been years … we thought … Chakotay, I’m so terribly sorry,’ she said eventually, her voice breaking. She gathered him in for a hug, and he tried to hug back. But there was so little left within him: no emotion, no ability to connect, even though he desperately wanted to do so. He stood woodenly in Kathryn’s arms until she let him go and stood back.

She led him up onto the porch and served him lemonade. She looked at him sideways a few times, and clearly decided not to say anything. They were well used to sitting together in silence, and that first evening, that’s what they did.

And for that, Chakotay was grateful.

~~*~~

Kathryn was on summer leave, and her days were filled with work on the farm. Chakotay sometimes helped her, but more often he disappeared into the woods and fields and took long, exhausting walks. He knew he would sleep well at night only if he had worn himself out during the day. And so the evenings on Kathryn’s front porch were mostly silent, as she rocked in the porch swing after a hard day of farm work and he slumped in a basket chair nearby. Lemonade in frosted glasses one evening would be followed by dry white wine in glasses with long stems the next. And on the nights when there was a hint of a chill in the air, Kathryn would serve coffee in sturdy pottery mugs.

More than a week went by — a week of long days and calm nights, of replicated meals and Kathryn’s curious eyes asking the questions she wouldn’t ask aloud. And then came the evening when he found himself speaking about the death of his wife.

‘We walked over the hill and they were waiting. Tom missed the readings on the scanners, Harry was busy back on Voyager, and missed them as well. Tuvok had a seizure at his post that day, do you remember?’

Kathryn nodded.

‘The bridge was chaos, but we continued the away mission. We needed the supplies, and I wanted the time planetside with Annika. We sent Tom away to give ourselves some privacy, we walked over the hill, and they were waiting. We didn’t even know they were hostile. I’ve never known what happened next. Maybe we scared them. Maybe the light reflected off Annika’s ocular implant — it did that sometimes. If it flashed in their eyes, made it look as though we were trying to blind them…’ He trailed off for a few moments, reliving in painful detail every moment of that day, twelve years ago.

‘They had projectile weapons rather than plasma based. Primitive weapons.’ He spat the words out. ‘But a projectile struck her on the temple and knocked her out. The nanoprobes had always been able to deal with injuries, but perhaps they couldn’t deal with an ordinary contusion. Or maybe her body was finally beginning to reject her Borg programming, and the nanoprobes weren’t being directed to the site of the injury as quickly as they used to. I don’t know. I just don’t know why it happened.’

He felt a tear slide down his cheek, and Kathryn reached across and took one of his hands in hers. She didn’t speak, but simply listened as he recounted the terror in his wife’s eyes as she felt her life slipping away, and his own despair. The words flowed for the first time since Annika’s death. He recounted happier memories — their courtship, their wedding, their two brief years of marriage, while Kathryn listened in silence. Finally, wearied by reliving both the grief and the joy of his former life, he fell asleep in his basket chair.

When he woke in the pale light of early morning, he found a blanket tucked around him to keep off the Indiana chill.

~~*~~

Time passed, and the question of whether Chakotay wished to stay at the farm was never asked. His residency became assumed. His face became recognisable in the area and he was greeted gruffly by neighbouring farmers on his daily walks. He started to refer to the farm as ‘home.’

Kathryn tried to get him to eat, but very little tasted good. He walked so long and so hard that he lost weight. His hair turned white, and when he saw himself in the mirror one morning, he realised he was old.

Kathryn’s leave was over, and she had returned to her desk job at HQ. She was tired of Administration — even more tired of the work than she had been when she had been promoted off her ship. She’d been asked to teach at the Academy, alongside their old friend, Commander Barclay. She discussed the possibilities with Chakotay during their evenings on the porch, and as it got colder, their evenings before the fire. Chakotay said very little in reply as she talked about the classes at the Academy they wanted her to teach, and the longer summer holidays she would be able to have as a result. There were so many things she wanted to do on the farm.

‘Do you remember my Talaxian tomatoes?’ Kathryn asked suddenly, and Chakotay was startled into a reply.

‘Of course. At least, I remember the plants.’

Kathryn smiled. ‘They never did bear fruit — or not while we were there.’

‘I’m sure our monkey friend and his family have been well fed over the years.’

It was easier to talk about those early days; days when they’d disagreed but been friends, the days before Annika had joined the crew.

‘There’s a legend among my people,’ said Kathryn softly, and Chakotay smiled. ‘Of a man who left his home and his family; a man who did many things his friends and colleagues couldn’t understand; who made alliances with enemies of his people, and who did everything he could to separate himself from others. And then, one day, he came home. He didn’t expect a warm welcome. He barely even expected to be accepted. But he went to the one place he called home, in the hopes that he could find a corner in which to curl up and die.’

He knew his line in this script. ‘Is that really an ancient legend?’

She smiled at him gently. ‘Yes. But it also made this easier to say — why did you come here, Chakotay?’

At first he didn’t answer. She watched him, but didn’t say anything. Finally, he spoke. ‘I had nowhere else to go,’ he said.

‘I’m glad you felt you could come here,’ she replied.

~~*~~

Kathryn went back to the Academy when the school year began, and Chakotay stayed on the farm. In the evenings they would talk over the comm, and on weekends Kathryn would return to inspect her domain. In December the snow began to fall, and Kathryn dug out two pairs of skis from the attic. But Chakotay refused them.

He knew that he was too weak, now. He knew he was losing strength each day, and while he’d hid it well from Kathryn until now, his weakness would soon be apparent to everyone.

Kathryn took the development in stride, or at least, in her type of stride — she refused to accept it. She went for slow walks with him around the farm, bullied him into eating vegetables that were high in iron and protein, and left plates full of caramel brownies in prominent positions. Chakotay tried to eat the food she set before him. He saw the effort she was making and wanted to repay it. But even the caramel brownies tasted like paper to him now, and he would take only one or two bites before pushing the plate away. He hid food away, to make it seem as though he was eating more, but still he lost weight and strength.

Kathryn called the EMH to give Chakotay a check up. The prognosis was not good, and when Chakotay refused to undergo treatment of any sort, the EMH could do little more than shake his head and vainly offer Kathryn a shoulder to cry on. But Kathryn would not cry. Instead, she built up the wood fire every night, and she and Chakotay would sit in front of it and reminisce. Each night, Chakotay would try to say what he knew had to be said. Each night, he failed, until one night, at the end of January, when he could feel that there were very few nights left to him. The fire was crackling and they were drinking hot chocolate, and Chakotay spoke.

‘I owe you…,’ he hesitated. ‘I owe you an apology. I could have done more for you.’

Just as Kathryn refused to believe in his ill-health, she refused to accept his words. ‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Just enjoy the fire.’

He shook his head. ‘I have to say this while there’s still time,’ he said, ignoring her grimace at his point-blank wording. ‘I’ve hurt you badly, and I’ve done it too often. I married Annika, and then, when she died…’

‘You did what anyone would do in the same situation,’ said Kathryn. ‘You withdrew, you grieved, you swore at the Gods and declared life to be unliveable without her.’

‘I swore at you — I blamed you for her death. Kathryn, I hit you,’ he finished, his voice dropping in shame.

Kathryn’s hand went up to touch her cheek — to run her fingers along the bone that Chakotay’s temper had broken. He reached out shakily and put his hand over hers. ‘I can’t believe what I did. I can’t forgive what I did. And I don’t understand why you have forgiven me.’

She looked back at him with eyes brimming with tears. ‘I haven’t forgiven myself,’ she replied. ‘I took that blow as a punishment I deserved. I still had you, while you had lost Annika. It was right that I should feel some of your pain. Besides, you weren’t yourself.’

He let his hand drop away. ‘I was myself,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t under alien control, I wasn’t infected by some unknown virus. I shouldn’t have done what I did. Until then, I still had you. By doing that, I lost you.’

‘You lost yourself,’ Kathryn said softly. ‘You disappeared, you never told me where you were going. You didn’t lose me. You never will.’

‘You stopped speaking to me, Kathryn,’ he said, in disbelief. ‘You refused to meet my eyes, you stopped eating dinner with me.’ He stopped, coughing heavily.

Kathryn rubbed his back and said softly, ‘I was there. I was always there.’

He didn’t have the strength to fight her for the truth. That night he slipped into a coma from which the EMH was unable to rouse him.

~~*~~

‘Chakotay?’ She was holding his hand, and squeezed it as she spoke.

He moved his mouth, but his vocal chords refused to work. He wanted to say goodbye. He wanted to thank her. He wanted to remind her how much she meant to him. He looked at her — one longing gaze before his eyes ceased functioning. Superimposed upon the darkness was that final image of her, strong and beautiful as ever.

Now, he could only hear and feel.

‘I saw you open your eyes,’ she said. There was just a tinge of desperation in her voice. ‘I’m not going to let you go, Chakotay. I don’t care what that hologram says — you’re going to be here in the spring when the crops come up.’ She was ordering him, just as she had done for twenty-three years. ‘And in four months it will be the tenth anniversary of our return. Harry is going to be back from deep space, Naomi is bringing her family. Aren’t you longing to see them all? Please, Chakotay, hold on. Everyone will want to see you. I talked to Tuvok about you last week. He recognised your name. His mind…’ she trailed off for a moment, then breathed in and continued. ‘But his body is so very strong. Like you, Chakotay. My angry warrior of all those years ago.’

He felt her grasp at his hand, her nails digging into his skin. And then his feeling was gone — and then:

‘Chakotay, have you any idea how much I love you?’

And there were tears in her voice when she said those words, and he knew at that moment that he wanted to come back. He wanted to see her white hair again, and her bright eyes, and her smile.

‘I know why you acted as you did when she died. I understand. Do you think I wouldn’t move heaven and earth for you?’

He wanted to tell her how much he loved her.

‘You were at my side for twenty-three years, even when you weren’t my first officer. You were there, even when you had disappeared to the ends of the earth. And now I have you here again… I can’t lose you again.’

He tried to come back.

‘I won’t!’

The last thing he heard was the blip of a monitor, and her desperate cry — wild and anguished, tearing at his heart.

‘ _Chakotay_!’


End file.
